


Seeking Stars

by orphan_account



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Ah yes Jeremy and Michael are awkward, Also it’s will Roland jeremy, Friends to Lovers, Jeremy has electronic scars, Jeremy has trauma, M/M, More ships to b added later, Rich is a poetry boy, Rich likes Edgar Allen Poe, awkward first kisses, break ups, it’s always Will Roland Jeremy yall, lots of trauma, rich has depression., slowburn baby, their friendship is gonna take time to get back to normal, they shock when he puts them in water
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's an innumerable amount of things he can say off the top of his head; and that's only from the first glance.Getting to know him, though? That's a different task;  Especially when everything in life seems to crumble around them.Picking each other up out of the ashes of the past isn’t easy.
Relationships: Rich Goranski/Jeremy Heere
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jewish👏 Jeremy👏 Rep👏  
I did my research and I’m pretty sure I got his prayer right? If I didn’t, just let me know what to do to change it.

* * *

The aftermath of a hospital stay is always difficult; once you return from the bustling routine, it's hard to get back to normal.

Especially for Jeremy Heere.

Recovery from the hospital is hard enough, but when you add the SQUIP into this mess? It tends to make things....more complicated.

"We're home, Jeremy." Jeremy blinks away the fogginess of his thoughts, looking around his surroundings. His dad was right, they were home. Huh. He thought the drive would take longer.

"I'll help you walk up the stairs, I know you're still weak. Give me a second." Jeremy was faintly aware of the click of the seatbelt, and the opening of the car door. Small sounds, but ones he can clearly hear due to his hearing being restored to what it originally was. Apparently, the squip had blocked all unnecessary noises so he could "focus on the task at hand." Same with his sight, for that matter. Now that it's gone, his senses seem heightened. Everything hurts.

The car door swings open, and he undoes the seatbelt and clambers out of his seat. It's surprising, how much his body seemed to rely on that pill.

"Come on, I'll help you to your room. Do you want me to make you anything? Microwave Mac and cheese? A sandwich?" His dad shuts the car door, before helping him walk to the front porch.

"I'm good. Thanks, dad." He smiled, trying to hide the fact that he honestly just wants to sleep. His head hurts.

"Alright...Don't hesitate to tell me if you need anything, okay? I'm going to be a better dad now. It's what you deserve." Mr. Heere opened the front door, and Jeremy sighed as he stepped back into the familiarity of his home. He's missed it.

"I will." He kicked his shoes off, before starting the walk down the hallway.

"Seriously, Jeremy. Just call me if you need me, I'll make dinner soon." He stated, as Jeremy gave him a thumbs up.

"Okay. Love you, dad." He opened his door, sliding into his room.

"Get some sleep, bud." Mr. Heere called, and Jeremy nodded before shutting the door.

As soon as it's shut behind him, he falls to his knees and tries not to cry. Things are SO different and he doesn't know what to do. After relying on a computer to control his body systems and to remind him to do things, his body is still struggling to cope again with having to function on his own. He doesn't know if he could sleep, even if he wants to.

Not to mention the hearing thing again. The fish tank in his room is bubbling, and he can't think straight with the noise. He knows there's no fish in there either, considering both his dad and Michael seemed to forget about them while he was in his coma and they died. Yeah, that's another fun thing to think about.

He was in a coma.

The dark, endless void of slow sounds and muted memories that he can barely remember.

The smell is the one thing that stuck with him: hospital anesthetic. Strong, cold, and he's unable to place what it actually smells like. All he knows is that it seemed to cloud his head, keeping him out cold even though he KNEW it was his own body's decision to shut down. He'd consider it a miracle that he's even alive, at this point.

Speaking of miracles, he really doesn't know how he's NOT dead. According to the neurologist, the amount of shock that was sent to his brain should've killed him. Divine interference is the only thing he can think of.

Clasping his hands together, he exhaled softly and looked around his room.

"Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, ha-gomel l'chayavim tovim she-g'malani kol tuv..." he murmured, thankful that he still knows the Birkat HaGomel by heart. He's had too much on his mind lately to actually do his prayers, and he can't help but feel guilty about it. This is a situation where he's just thankful to be alive. He won't forget his prayers again.

He's finally back to as normal as he can be, and he won't just leave everything behind again.

Standing to his feet, he shakily walked to his bed and pulled the covers back. His room seems unfamiliar but normal, at the same time. It's probably because it was cleaned while he was in the hospital, so he's not used to actually seeing it so spotless. The SQUIP didn't care about the state of his room- he never invited anyone over, so why should it matter, right? That was the SQUIP's logic, and it seemed to work.

Flopping down, he tried to dispel the now barely audible buzzing from his mind. Things are strange- and it'll only be worse when he goes back to school. He's not going to think about it. Right now, he just needs to take a break and let himself recover. Stressing can be something he does later.

Right as he lays down, the sharp ping of his message notification pierces the room. Groaning, he picked the phone up and squinted at the message.

* * *

**Mikey**: ur dad told me ur home?? Can I come over

**Jeremy**: *your, you're. And yeah, I'm home. Come over if you want

**Mikey**: glad to see your still correcting my choice of words. I'll be over in 10

**Jeremy**: *YOU'RE

* * *

He threw his phone to the side, shifting on the bed as his head continued to ache. He probably should've taken some Tylenol, but hey. Suffering seems like the better option. He can't help but think that this is his karma for taking the squip, regardless.

The 10 minutes are insufferably long, and he doesn't even lift his head off the pillow when Michael walks in.

"Hey, Player 2. How are you feeling?" He asked, walking around to the other side of the bed and jumping on it. Jeremy grimaced as the bed shifted, and pouted slightly.

"Like death. Not surprising, considering I almost died." He laughed lightly, resting the back of his hand against his eyes. Michael didn't laugh, giving a glance at Jeremy.

"Don't joke around like that, you almost did die." His voice was quieter, as he started to fidget with his jacket.

"Sorry." Jeremy muttered, opening his eyes slightly and looking up at Michael.

"Do you want me to get you anything? I still have my shoes on, so...a 7/11 trip is cool if you want that." Michael nervously played around with his headphones, and Jeremy gasped in mock horror.

"You're wearing shoes on MY BED? Friendship cancelled." He teased, and froze when he saw Michael go rigid.

"Fuck. Fuck, Michael, I didn't mean that. I'm only joking." He sat up, resting his hand on Michael's arm lightly.

"Y-Yeah. I know. No big deal." Michael looked at him, giving him a tight-lipped smile and ruffling his hair lightly.

"I'm gonna go grab some chips. You wanna watch a movie or is your head hurting too much for that?"

"I...I'm actually really tired. Soon, I promise." Jeremy answered, biting his lip as he waited for Michael's reaction.

"...I'll just head home, then. I hope you feel better, Jeremy. We need to beat level nine, so...come over, you know, if you want. I won't be doing anything, anyway. You know me, just a stoner in my basement." He attempted a laugh, but it sounded fake. Jeremy knew that right off the bat.

Michael got up and walked out of the room, giving a small wave to Jeremy before shutting the door.

Awkward doesn't even begin to describe that encounter. He's never been that awkward around Michael- he's never had to even think of anything to say. Now? He has to go through multiple processes of thought before he can even get the nerve to talk to his best friend. He knows he hurt Michael at the party- and frankly? He doesn't know why he's even here now.

He sure as hell doesn't deserve Michael, and he now knows that he's always going to have to be careful around what he says. What he said in the bathroom that night ruined his friendship. He's willing to do anything to get it back to normal, if he can ever find normal again. What he did is unforgivable in his eyes- he doesn't even know why Michael even bothered to save his ass at the play. He certainly didn't deserve it, with the way he treated him.

Enough deep thoughts. His mind is racing, thoughts of what he needs to do to fix things with Michael and how he's going to go back to school are racing through his head and he just needs it to stop. The stupid fish tank won't stop making noise, and he just feels like shit.

The SQUIP is gone, but there will always be lasting effects, won't there? He can't escape from it entirely.

He doesn't deserve to, anyway. Suffering is what he deserves. After all, he almost doomed human civilization due to his desperate pleading to just be noticed. He knows his place now- he's not going to make the same mistake twice.

"Jeremy? You need anything?" His dad lightly knocked on the door, before inching it open slightly.

"Just some Tylenol and tissues." He answered, running his fingers on the pillowcase absentmindedly.

“Okay." Mr. Heere shut the door, and Jeremy was unaware of the frown etched on his face. He knows he's a mess, and what he did isn't something worth redemption. He can't help but wish he could fix things automatically- he hurt a lot of people. That guilt is threatening to swallow him up, along with everything else going on right now.

He hurt Brooke. He hurt Michael. Christine won't ever want to be near him again- and at this point, he doesn't care. Everything just feels like it's being sucked into a black hole, dragging Jeremy with it.

There's just so much he has to fix, so many relationships he needs to talk out, so many bridges he needs to rebuild. He just doesn't know if he can do it.


	2. Chapter 2

Richard Goranski, a freshman who couldn't even walk the halls of Middleborough without falling on his face, or being slammed up against some lockers.

Rich Goranski, A name that struck terror in the many freshmen of Middleborough high, and a name that had relevance in the popular hierarchy of the school.

Rich Goranski, who is now in the center of the biggest scandal that's rocked the school in 10 years.

Rumors and lies spread faster than the fire that engulfed Jake Dillinger's home; the fire that Rich himself set. Whispers in hallways, loud statements at lunch, and rumor after rumor spread.

Arsonist. Freak. Psychopath. Mentally unstable. Gay. The list would stretch for miles; anyone who had something to say about him could speak their mind, with no worries of retribution. And so, they continued to get wilder in time.

From Rich's hospital bed, he knew that whatever was being said at school wasn't good. He can't be surprised; he did a horrifying thing before transported to the hospital. Jeremy's silence on what was going on at school was enough.

Speaking of Jeremy- He really fucked his life up, didn't he?

He terrorized him, vandalized his property, pushed him around, and threatened him. And on top of all that, gave him an abusive supercomputer that landed him in the hospital.

Fucked up his life is an understatement.

The room is quieter now that Jeremy's gone- the quiet beeping of the heart rate monitor is the only thing keeping him company.

He could say he deserves the loneliness, but honestly? It's comforting. Right now, there's no deranged supercomputer masquerading as his mother screaming god knows what at him.

As of this moment, he's the only one in this bleak hospital room. Just him and his broken parts. He's far from happy, but this is...nice. It's nice.

Besides, he didn't talk to Jeremy much, anyway. Besides coming out to him, which he regrets. In his defense, he was sky high on painkillers, so it's not like he could actually control what was running from his mind to his mouth. So, his absence isn't the end of the world. He's sure he'll be regretting these words in a few days, when he's still stuck here.

He doesn't necessarily want to leave, though. Leaving the security of the hospital means going out into the real world. Going back to school and having to avoid Jake and everyone else, because he's NOT cool. He never was. He was a scared kid trying to make something with his life that would have come down crashing and burning, sooner or later. He still is.

Leaving the hospital means having to go home to his dad, and back to the verbal insults. At least this time, they'll only be coming from his dad, and not from the digital form of his mother. He isn't looking forward to it, but the very least he can do is try and look on the positive side of things.

Like how he doesn't have to put so much effort into his appearance, for one. Without the squip ordering him around, he can leave his hair alone and hopefully, it grows out soon.

The red stripe will fade soon, he hopes. He doesn't know why the squip wouldn't let him keep his natural brunette curls, but she- IT. Not she, that wasn't his mother. It never told him why he couldn't keep his old appearance; although it was probably due to the fact that he couldn't look like his old self in the slightest so he could worm his way into the social standing. Regardless: he wants it gone. 

His freshman self is gone, and he knows that. His squipped self is gone too- so while he doesn't know what, or rather who, he is, he's going to do his best to meld the broken pieces together. He has to, after all. He has to be able to survive for a few more years, so he can run off somewhere and start over without the crippling anxiety he has from his peers.

God, he really doesn't want to go back to school.

He knows he has no choice and that he has to pay the price for what he's done, but he's selfish and doesn't want to go through anything. Hasn't he gone through enough?

Of course he hasn't. There's always going to be more pain and suffering for him, and he's learned to accept it. That's just the luck that his family like has. For all he knows, he'll end up dead, in the middle of nowhere after drinking himself to death. That's how the majority of the Goranskis left the world, and he wouldn't be surprised if he follows along in those footsteps.

* * *

"Richard? The doctor wants to have a few words with you, if you're feeling up to it." A nurse walked in, her blue scrubs blindingly colorful in the bleak, stark white room. Rich gave a muted nod, hands squeezing the sheets and starting to worry.

"How are you today?" The woman walked in, professionalism radiating off of her.

"Okay, I suppose. As good as one can be in my situation." He answered, avoiding eye contact. He knows the doctor won't give him a pitiful glance, but he can't bear to maintain eye contact.

"That's what I would expect. Anyway, Richard. You've been in the hospital for around 4 1/2 weeks now, and you're pretty much healed up. You're very lucky the flames only severely burned your left arm- we were able to skin graft a little, but you're pretty much good as you'll get. We're going to release you in the morning, if that's okay with you?" She asked, clicking her pen quickly.

"That's fine." He muttered, running his hand up and down the white bandage wrapped around his arm.

"I know you won't be happy about this, considering what you and other teens get up to these days, but you shouldn't smoke anything. No vaping, and especially no cigarettes. You inhaled a lot of smoke at the fire- and that's what almost killed you, not the burns. Your lungs are very fragile right now, and you need to take care of yourself, okay?"

Rich pushed away the blaring emptiness in his mind, before turning to the doctor and giving a small smile. It's the least he can do, considering all she's done for him.

"Ok. Thanks for everything." He tore his gaze away seconds later, looking back down at the white sheets.

"You're welcome. Just take care of yourself, Richard." She stood up from her chair, briskly walking out of the room.

Rich sighed, laying his head back against the bed and trying to push away the anxiety that was accompanying the fact that everything was quiet. He has to message his dad to come get him; he knows he'll be cussed out to hell and back on the way home, but he doesn't care at this point. The only thing racing through his mind is school, school, school. People. Rumors.

Jake.

He knows that confrontation is going to fucking suck: which is why he's going to do what he's always done, because he's just a scared kid trying to make a way through life.

He's going to run away from it, and hide. Putting it off as long as he can, because he knows that if he even tries to talk it out, he's going to break more than he has already and Jake would never let him explain.

After all, he only started the fire so the squip wouldn't hurt anyone else. He saw firsthand what it did to Jeremy, masquerading it as something good.

He couldn't let anyone else go through what he went through. The different scenarios of what he could've done differently race through his head every second, and he can't help but wonder if people would actually miss him if he offed himself in a different way. Maybe pills, again. Third time's the charm, right?

He doesn't know how to process, or calm himself down right now. The SQUIP would calm him down, but since it's gone and the only thing that remains is EMPTINESS, he doesn't know what to do.

The heart rate monitor is spiking up with every rapid beat of his heart, and the tears that he didn't even know were there are trickling down his face.

The nurse runs in, immediately speaking soft words of condolences and trying to get him to focus on her. He can't hear anything, because her words are slurred and the beeping is just getting louder and louder. He can't calm down. Everything's wrong, and he doesn't want this. He doesn't want the silence in his head, he doesn't want to be in the hospital, he doesn't want to go home. He doesn't want to go to school.

He doesn't want to suffer for the things he did, as selfish as that seems.

He can faintly see a few more nurses come running in, and the medical orders being yelled out as he tried to take a deep breath.

Everything is just too much. Rich Goranski is a multitude of different emotions and broken pieces that are just trying to reconnect in the only way they know how- and he can only sit and wonder why he has to be this way.

Everything seems to calm down after a few nurses finally talk him down from panicking, and only then does he realize he must've been talking throughout the entire ordeal, because his mouth is dry and his throat is burning.

"That's right, calm down. Things are going to be okay." One of the nurses rubs his back carefully, as he chokes out a teary laugh.

"That's the biggest lie I've ever heard. Things are never okay. Some people just have better luck than others." He bitterly smiled, wiping his eyes quickly.

He really is broken.


	3. Chapter 3

Within the first few seconds of being in school, Jeremy could see things had changed.

For one: people stared at him when he walked in. Whispers of "ecstasy boy" and "can't believe he's back" filled the halls, clearer and painful to Jeremy's hearing. No one seemed SCARED of him, but he definitely got a few more curious looks than he would've liked.

Two: Michael.

Michael came cruising down the hallway, bopping to whatever music was blaring from his headphones. Unlike before, when people would barely bat an eye, Michael turned a few heads as he walked to Jeremy. After frantically scanning gazes, he found that people seemed to be looking at Michael with a mix of adoration and curiosity.

"Hey, Jeremy. You look better than last week." He took off his headphones, concern shining in his gaze.

"Are you feeling better, though?"

Jeremy grimaced, waving his hand in a so-so motion.

"I mean, it could be better, I guess. I don't necessarily feel BAD, but I don't feel good. I don't know." He wrapped his hands tightly around his backpack straps, lightly rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I guess that makes sense. You DID have a supercomputer in your head." Michael lowered his voice, taking a sip of his slushee. That's when Jeremy noticed something.

"Hey...today's Tuesday, why aren't you high? That's the slushee you only get when you're high as fuck." He asked, and Michael pouted.

"Moms told me I wasn't allowed to go to school high because my grades apparently aren't very good right now. Because B's and C's just aren't acceptable, I suppose." Michael started walking towards homeroom, Jeremy scampering after him, trying to shrug away the unease of having people watch him.

He tried to think of something to say back to Michael, but he doesn't want to say something accidentally offensive, or try and make a joke and it's not funny, or talk about something boring, or-

"Jeremy? Where are you going?" Michaels voice snapped him out of his reverie, and Jeremy realized he'd walked past the classroom.

"Shit, I'm...I'm just in another place right now. Thanks." He turned back to walk into the classroom, avoiding Michael's pitying and worried gaze.

English. A horrible class to start the day.

"Heere! Come on, dude, chair's open." Jake yelled, as Jeremy entered the classroom.

Jeremy panicked, turning to Jake and Michael in a few short seconds. Michael's expression was blank, but he smiled and slightly pushed him towards Jake. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and God, Jeremy felt bad for doing this. He doesn't even deserve to sit next to Jake, first of all. And Michael doesn't deserve to sit alone, or with some other random kid.

And if Michael was definitely a little upset because the Jeremy he knew before was gone forever, well. He didn't show it.

Jake gave Jeremy a fist bump as he sat down, and turned to focus on the teacher.

Jeremy zoned out again, thinking about walking past the classroom. No doubt some people saw that and thought he was an idiot.

"And so, because I know this entire class absolutely adores writing exercises..." he snapped back to attention as Ms. Carter, the teacher, clasped her hands together excitedly. The class groaned, a few boys even booing.

"Now now, it's nothing big. You all know Psychology, right?" She asked, and looked out at the students. Not a peep.

"Alright, I guess I'm explaining it."She grabbed a marker, turning to the whiteboard.

"Psychology is the scientific study of the mind and behavior." She drew a sad attempt of a brain on the board, stopping only to answer a question.

"Last time I checked, this isn't science class." Dustin snarked, getting a few laughs out of the class.

"You're right, Dustin! Would you like a gold star for that, or would you let me finish explaining?" She asked, not waiting for an answer as she turned back to the board.

"I know all about the popularity thing you have going on. Let me be the first to tell you, class: that doesn't mean a freaking thing in the real world. Once you graduate, it doesn't matter if you were a nerd, or a jock, or whatever. You'll be the small fish in the huge ocean known as the world. And so, this project I'm assigning will help break down those barriers so you can make lifelong friends, or enemies. This is going to be enjoyable for me, especially, to watch." She erased the brain on the board, before drawing a few more things.

To say Jeremy was anxious was the understatement of the year.

"I'll be pairing you with someone that I specifically have chosen, based on your personality and a few other factors. The project will be this: from now, the 16th of November, to the 3rd of January, you'll be doing this project. I'll be pairing you with someone, and it's your job to study them. You'll get to really know them, and you're both going to write things you notice about the other. Any quirks they have. Habits. How they act socially, when they're in public versus private. You'll compose this all in an essay, and in January, I'll be pulling the set of you into a separate room and you're both going to read your essays in front of me and each other." She finished talking, smiling as the class burst into an uproar.

"And no, you don't get to choose your partners. And yes, I will know if you make your partner do all the work because your essay must be handwritten. I won't be reading these, you will, so I'd hope you'd make it legible considering you're the one reading it." She walked to her desk, pulling out the rubrics.

"I hope whoever I'm with is hot." Jake whispered, and Jeremy gave him a shaky smile.

"Yeah, I'd bet that would be interesting for you, especially. I just hope whoever I get is someone I've never met before, and doesn't care to much that I...Uh, drugged the cast with ecstasy." He whispered back, picking at his nail cuticles. Jake laughed, throwing his arm around Jeremy.

"You'll be fine, dude. I'd die to be friends with someone who managed to drug the entire cast, and luckily I am." He received a blistering glare from the teacher, and pulled his arm away and put his hands together on his desk.

"I've written the names of your partner on the rubric- I couldn't care less if you get rid of them or switch with someone else, because I have them all typed into my laptop at home. If you switch, I will know, and it will result in a zero. This project is going to be graded the same as a test, so I wouldn't try anything unless you want to lower your grades."

Jeremy sighed, drumming his fingers against the desk. Ms. Carter had started at the back of the classroom, and he hated the anxious racing of his heart as he waited for his rubric.

The overwhelming scent of the teacher's perfume stung his nose, as she placed the rubric on his desk and walked to her own.

"If I were you, I'd get a head start on this project. It has to be at least 3 pages long, and you'll see the rest of the requirements on the papers."

Jeremy tuned her out, grabbing his backpack as the bell started to ring.

Michael met him at the door, as they walked to their lockers.

"So who'd you get? I got your ex, Brooke." He asked, grabbing his other books.

"I don't know. I was too nervous to check in the class." He answered, eyes looking at the tiled floor.

"Come on, Jeremy. Just look at it or I'll look at it for you." Michael ordered, shutting his locker back.

Jeremy sighed, flipping the paper over and scanning it from the bottom up.

"Jeremy. The name is at the top. Where most names go." Michael spoke in a teasing tone, as Jeremy huffed and flipped him off.

"Leave me alone. I'm not thinking straight today." He looked up at the top, and frowned.

"I don't see the name at the top."

Michael rolled his eyes, snatching the rubric out of Jeremy's hands and scanning the page.

"Oh, shit." He breathed, eyes wide.

"What? Who is it? It's not Christine, is it? Please tell me it's not. I can't even face her after the shit I pulled at the play, and everything."

"It's definitely not Christine. You're gonna hate it, and I have half a mind to go up to Ms. Carter and demand that she changes this." Michael angrily pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Jeremy noticed he was crinkling his paper.

"Hey, Hey, don't ruin it." He scolded, taking it back and looking where Michael's thumb had been.

There, clear as day, was the name of his partner. Jeremy wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock and die alone.

His partner for this supposedly soul-bearing project was none other than Rich Goranski.

"Dude, just say the word and I'll go give Carter a talk she'll remember." Michael huffed, as Jeremy swallowed nervously.

"I-it's Fine. It's fine, okay Mike? He's changed, or something. He was nice in the hospital." Jeremy quickly opened his locker, pulling out his books and placing the rubric inside.

"It's not fine! He treated you like absolute garbage, and I have half a mind to get him back for that. He's the one who gave you the fucking squip in the first place!"

"You know as well as I do that it was my stupid decision. And I'll keep my distance, okay? He's burned, there's not much damage he can do now, right?" He asked, shutting his locker back.

"Fine. But if he makes any stupid choices, let me know and I'll handle it."

Jeremy frowned, holding his books to his chest as they started to run down the hallways. They were late, after all.

"I can handle it myself, thanks though." He smiled awkwardly, as they ran past one of the janitors.

"Huh, never thought I'd see the day where Jeremy Heere said he could stand up for himself." Michael teased, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Jeremy felt like he'd been punched in the gut, but managed a smile anyway. Has Michael always thought like that? Is he just playing? Before this mess, he knew immediately if Michael was joking around, but now.... he's not so sure.

It doesn't matter. He has bigger things to worry about.


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever hell Rich imagined his first day back was going to be like...it wasn't like it at all.

It was ten times worse.

Upon entering the building, he'd immediately pulled the hood over his head and tried to blend in with the throngs of students in the halls. It was working, too, until he got to his locker. It wasn't the insults scribbled all over it that upset him- it was the fact that some jock noticed, yanking his hood down and snatching the beanie off his head.

"Goranski's back, everyone! Were you trying to blend in, fireboy?" The guy teased, as Rich felt his anxiety levels shoot through the ceiling. Not right now. He was hoping for at least 4th period before being beaten into a pulp.

"Just...just give it back, okay?" He pleaded, arms upstretched in a desperate attempt to get the beanie. He didn't want anyone seeing his dark roots-not because he's ashamed of them, but because it would be so much easier to blend in as someone unknown if his hair was an entirely different color.

"JUSTH give it back, okay?!" The taller teen imitated him, swinging it higher. More people are gathering to watch, and Rich just wants to get to class already.

"Lose the nerd act, fire freak! Where's the real Rich? Come on, Man. Snap out of whatever shit this is. I'm sure Dillinger will get over it if you actually act like yourself." He jeered, as more people seemed to crowd closer.

"Fuck off, dickhead! Give me my hat and leave me the fuck alone." He wasn't going to jump up for his hat- he'd make everything ten times worse for himself if he did.

"What are you gonna do if I don't? I don't think you can handle a fight with the burned up mess you're trying to hide under your hoodie." He sneered, crossing his arms and leaning against his locker.

"You too scared to hit me? Like you do to half the school? Come on, Richie. I'll give you your stupid beanie back so you can cover whatever the hell you did to your hair. Just punch me first, unless you're a coward who can't handle a little scuffle."

Shaking, Rich opened his locker and just tried to tune out the chants of "Fight! Fight!" He doesn't want this. He's not going to do this.

He was grabbed by his hood, and yanked back before being spun and slammed into the lockers. The metal connecting with his head made a loud clang, as he started to see stars.

Ah. Freshman year flashbacks. The good old cold metal of a locker as he stares up at his tormentor. Freshman Rich would be disappointed that he'd ended up here again.

He's not going to give this jock what he wants and hit him. He's already branded as mentally unstable and shit; not that that's wrong, but he doesn't need to make everyone else scared of him even more. It's better to be mocked than to be feared, after all. Then again, that's just his way of thinking.

"You're a fucking wimp. I don't know what happened to you when you burnt Dillinger's home to a crisp, but you're nowhere near as fun as you were. You're a wimp, a coward, and no one's going to want to be anywhere near you." The jock smirked, punching Rich in the stomach and stepping back. 

Rich fell to his knees, arms clasped against his stomach as he tried to take a quick breath of air so he didn't puke up anything.

"Here's your hat back, loser." It landed in front of him, and Rich had to take a deep breath as he grabbed it and pulled it on his head. The people around him dispersed, carrying on their way to the next class. He can't say he doesn't deserve this, but he hates it all the same.

He tried to keep his gaze pointed to his locker, but couldn't help but notice a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. After standing to his feet, he turned and made eye contact with none other then Jake himself.

He snapped his gaze away immediately, grabbing his books for English. He can't take confrontation right now.

The pain in his stomach is nothing compared to the anxiety and foreboding he feels as he walks down the hallway, all too aware of everyone watching him.

* * *

Rich has come to a conclusion: the world hates him. Whatever, he hates it back.

The english teacher, for some freaking reason he can't even explain, paired him with Jeremy. She paired him with Jeremy, whose life he ruined and tortured for 2 or so years, for this huge project about "getting to know each other" and "bonding."

Rich doesn't bond with people. His friendship with Jake was a bond built on lies and deceit; and sure, he liked Jake. Who didn't? But they weren't friends. The way Rich was acting, Jake wasn't his friend because he deserved better, and he still does. Maybe Jeremy can take that place.

He already went on this tangent in the hospital, but there are so many more reasons he could explain why he was the WORST choice as a partner for Jeremy, ever. And he knows the other boy isn't thrilled either; he wouldn't want to be his own partner even if the world depended on it. Who would?

But, he was already failing english because according to the squip, he couldn't have a high grade in that class or he'd be a "Geek". He needs a good grade on this project to pull his sinking grade up, and he won't talk to Jeremy again. That way Jeremy can fix things with his friend, and be a much better friend to Jake than he ever was. Jeremy won't burn a house down.

It's lunch break, and considering he doesn't have a place to sit nor would he even want to go to the cafeteria, he's just going to go to the bathroom and then hide out in one of the supply closets. It'll be quiet, and he won't have to see anyone. And hopefully, no one will catch him in the hallways and spit insults about how he almost killed them, their sibling, s/0, or whatever. He does deserve it, though. He could've killed someone very easily with the fire. It was the stupidest way to go out, and he couldn't even succeed. If that doesn't tell you something about him, he doesn't know what will.

The hallways are always eerie when no one's in them; for now, he's the only one walking down the tiled floor. The faint chaos of the lunchroom can be heard, and he doesn't want to stick around for anyone to come upstairs and see him- so he quickly dodged the faculty staff, tiptoeing past a janitor, and almost running into Mr. Reyes, who was walking back down the hallway with a hot pocket. Classic Mr. Reyes.

Thank the fucking stars no one is making out in the bathroom, either. For now there's no one here and he doesn't have to worry.

It's only when he's washing his hands does his worst nightmare become reality: someone else is walking in the bathroom.

He doesn't want another repeat of freshman year. Not now.

"Yeah, I'll be down there in a minute." The familiar voice called, before actually stepping into the bathroom.

Of course it was Jeremy. The universe just really wants to make him miserable, doesn't it?

"Rich. Uh, hey."

"Hi."

The two of them are just standing in the bathroom; Rich looking at the floor and Jeremy rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. There's not really much to say. This is the bathroom where the entire mess started, and the sooner they could get out of here the better.

"Do you want to meet up at the library after school to start the project? Unless of course you're doing something else, which isn't a big deal, cause we all have different lives and everything of course, so-"

"Calm down." Rich held his hands up, and watched as Jeremy lightly flinched.

He should've expected that.

"I'm free whenever. The stupid tic-tac is gone so it's not like I have anything else to do." He shoved his hand in his hoodie pocket, pulling out his old glasses and putting them on.

He can't see shit without the squip's optic nerve technology, and he didn't want to risk having his glasses broken by anyone today. He's only putting them on now because he plans on reading, and because not wearing his glasses gives him a killer headache.

"...I didn't know you had glasses." Jeremy commented, and Rich looked up at him curiously as Jeremy started to panic.

"Not that you look bad in them! That is NOT what I'm saying. I was just saying I didn't know you had glasses, that's all." He wrung his hands nervously, as Rich gave him a frown.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me. I'll see you in the library." He stated, adjusting his backpack as he pushed open the bathroom door.

"Wait! Do you want me to bring you from like, 7/11 or something? Michael's- you know Michael, right? Yeah, well, he's going to drive me to 7/11 and I just wanted to know if you wanted a drink or anything." Jeremy asked, fidgeting with the ends of his cardigan.

Rich turned back around, giving Jeremy a wry smile.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but there's a strict no food or drink rule in the library. It would be good if you looked into that before bringing anything in." He walked out the door, the smile immediately dropping as he walked towards the place he hasn't been since freshman year. Back to the janitor's supply closet, where he spent many hours crying over his existence and the absence of his mom.

It's simply WONDERFUL to be doing all this shit again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Mike, you wanna sit with the others? Brooke IS your partner and she is sweet so I don't think she'd mind..." Jeremy asked, judging Michael's facial expression. They'd just gotten back to the school after going to 7/11, and Jeremy could tell something was off with Michael.

"I guess. I'm not gonna be talking anyway, I'm just gonna be eating so they'll have to deal with me being disgusting." He shrugged, as he parked the car and turned the keys.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to. I'll sit at our table again like old times. Just me and you against the world." Jeremy unbuckled his seatbelt, resting his hand on the door handle.

"Old times was literally 3 months ago but whatever."

"Wait, wait, are you mad at me?" Jeremy asked, frantically crawling out of his seat and shutting the door. Michael sighed, before taking a sip of his slushee.

"No, I'm not mad at you. Well, actually, I am, but it can wait. I'm more upset over the fact that the teacher paired you up with Rich. You're my best friend, and I don't want you to get hurt because of anything he does. And I snapped a second ago and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry about that."

"No, uh. Don't be sorry. I deserved that." Jeremy rubbed his arms sheepishly, as they headed into the school. The second Lunch had started a few minutes ago, and Jeremy's never been more thankful that his and Michael's study hall is right before lunch.

"Besides. I talked to Rich in the bathroom a little while ago and he said, like, 10 words and he stayed a good few feet away from me."

"I don't trust him and you shouldn't either."

"I don't! I was just SAYING that he seemed different, is all." Jeremy retorted, as Michael pushed open the door to the cafeteria.

"People can't change that fast, Jeremy." He answered, as he surveyed the large amounts of students milling around. Jeremy held back a sigh. With the help of a supercomputer, they can. After all, he did, didn't he?

"I don't necessarily want to sit with your friends. Chloe's a bitch and she'll criticize anything I ask Brooke." He stated, gaze softening as he saw Jeremy's forlorn expression.

"It's fine. We can sit somewhere else, I don't care. Christine doesn't even sit there, so why should we?" Jeremy attempted a laugh at the end of his sentence to lighten the mood, walking towards the abandoned table in the corner.

"Jeremy! I've been looking for you." Brooke intercepted his path, hands softly gripping his cardigan to prevent him from going anywhere.

"Where's your friend, Michael? There's room at our table now for you two to sit since Rich can't sit with us anymore. I mean, there's plenty of room for Michael, but you can sit if you want."

Jeremy exchanged a look with Michael, who shrugged and took a sip of his slushee. He pities Rich, now that it's been confirmed that he isn't going to be welcomed to sit at the popular table anymore.

He also felt that slight indication that he's not as welcomed as Michael is. He can't blame Brooke, he really hurt her.

"He's right behind me." He stepped aside, and Brooke's eyes lit up as she grabbed Michael's arm.

"Come on! You two don't have to sit at that table all the way over there. Some other kid can." She started to walk to the table, as Michael gave Jeremy a panicked glance over his shoulder. He quickly ran to catch up to them, as the rest of the table watched Michael warily.

"You remember Michael, right? I'm pretty sure he's the one who like, called 911 and helped Jeremy not overdose on ecstasy!" Brooke asked, as Chloe looked Michael up and down.

"Yeah, I remember. Don't just stand there, you're making people stare at us. As much as I appreciate people looking at me, I want to actually check out the hot guy you're blocking with your body." She ordered, and Michael sat down nervously.

This was going to be very, very interesting.

* * *

The rest of the school day seemed to go on as normally as it possibly could, despite everything that had happened.

Michael had been on edge all lunch, constantly fidgeting with his hoodie and trying to avoid the curious glances he was getting from the entire lunch room.

School was finally over, however, and Jeremy was destroying his nails as he stood outside the school library. He's got nothing to be nervous about, right? The squips are gone. Rich won't hurt him.

_The squip didn't make Rich set the fire , though, he did that on his own. If he's mentally unstable what else could he do-_

He shook away his worried thoughts, pushing open the library door and inhaling softly. The library is so quiet compared to the chaos of the hallways- and the smell of books is always comforting.

Shifting the weight of his backpack, he gave a muted nod of greeting to one of the librarians. Now, to find Rich, whenever he is. He can only spend so much time here today, his dad wants him to come home and rest some more because as far as the doctors are concerned, he still is a little weak in the legs and spinal area.

Ah, there Rich is. He's sitting at a table tucked into a corner, reading some book.

Walking up, he stopped a few feet from the table and watched as Rich's eyes went from the book to his face.

"Hi."

"Hey."

Rich looked back down at his book, as Jeremy awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" He asked, looking up at him again.

"Oh! Uh. Yeah. Didn't, didn't know if you wanted me to sit in a specific spot or anything, you know." He tossed his backpack on the table, pulling the chair out and carefully sitting down.

"So. I guess we just ask each other stuff and write it down until we're friends or whatever? I don't know. I was zoning out in English and I don't understand the rubric."

Rich nodded, marking his page and setting the book aside.

"I can say from looking at you for a minute that you're very animated and talk with your hands, meaning you make a lot of hand motions. You also bite your lip when you're nervous and from the looks of it, your nails too."Rich didn't make eye contact, instead settling with drumming his nails on the table.

Jeremy sighs, resting his chin on his hand. There's an innumerable amount of things he can say off the top of his head; and that's only from the first glance.

"Well. I noticed you dogeared your page, and you aren't keeping eye contact with me, but you have 3 freckles on your left cheek. And you tend to tighten your grip on your hoodie sleeve, like you're doing now. And you also are a lot shyer than I initially thought and your posture is surprisingly....perfect." Jeremy rushed his words, tightening his grip on his cardigan.

Rich looked up, smiling slightly. It still didn't reach his eyes.

"I didn't know you could notice all that."

"Well, I didn't know that I use my hands a lot in conversation. I'm gonna be super awkward now." He whined, placing his fingers in his hair and leaning on the table.

"Wait, was that an INSULT?"

Rich smiled slyly, picking up the book and holding it up in front of his face so Jeremy could only see his eyes.

Jeremy smiled mischievously, reaching out and poking the book so it hit Rich's nose.

"You're interesting, Rich."

Rich rolled his eyes, placing the book down and fiddling with a pencil.

"I'm really not." He grabbed his notebook from his backpack, writing down what he'd described about Jeremy.

"Oh god, your handwriting...wow." Jeremy grimaced, as Rich furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at him.

"I know it looks like shit, okay? The squip wanted me to write a certain way and I don't know how to do it anymore cause it's gone. Just don't point it out anymore, okay?" He asked, voice on edge.

Just like that, the little spark Jeremy could've called happiness was gone from Rich's gaze, replaced with anger.

"I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that when my own handwriting is bad and everything-"

"Stop trying to make this about you. I know I have shitty handwriting and I'll leave it at that. I'll see you tomorrow." He grabbed his books, swinging his backpack on his shoulder as he quickly stood to his feet.

"No, Rich, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad or anything." Jeremy grabbed onto the shorter boy's arm, frantically trying to find something to say to stop things from getting worse.

"I'm not picking on you or anything. The squip was a dick and I know it's hard to adjust." He sighed, letting go and rubbing one of the electronic scars on his wrist.

"Look, Jeremy. I had that thing in my head for 2 years. I can't even focus on anything right now and I'm trying. I want to make things better with you but I can't right now. I'll see you tomorrow." He walked down the library aisles, disappearing from view.

"Fucking idiot. I'm stupid." Jeremy kicked the chair, immediately wincing in pain as his foot started to ache.

"I can't fix things with anyone, even if I wanted to." He sat back down, pulling out his own notebook and writing down what had happened. He needs to stop acting like this. You'd think the squip would've shocked the stupidity out of him, at least.

He keeps screwing up things with Michael, he just really fucked things up with Rich, and he hasn't even been able to apologize to Christine and Brooke yet. There's so much he has to do, including this project.

He has to get to know the real Rich Goranski, and he doesn't know if he can keep his mouth shut long enough to even help break Rich's walls down.

What he did today only made them higher- he's going to have to actually think things out before he says anything. He can't be himself around Rich, because he doesn't know who he is anyway. The old jeremy is gone, and he's someone new now, with all the relationships he needs to fix waiting for him.


	6. Chapter 6

Another day of school, another day of names and bruises.

Rich has become numb to it at this point. His locker's been vandalized more times than he can count, and he honestly doesn't care anymore. He's an arsonist, and he's mentally fucked up. They aren't wrong, so why deny the truth?

...Thinking like that probably isn't healthy, but it's not like he can go to a counselor and explain everything or he'd be led away in a straitjacket.

Sighing, he shifted his backpack to the other shoulder as he walked down the hallways. Jeremy is walking out of one of the classrooms, biting his lip as he heads toward his locker. A few people hold hands up for a high five, and he can tell Jeremy's anxious as he weakly smiles.

"What are you looking at?" His view of Jeremy is blocked as Michael Mell steps in front of him, gaze cold.

"Listen, Michael, before you say anything, I don't-I'm not going to hurt Jeremy. I know I hurt him and I hurt you. I just was looking at him for the stupid project we have to do, and then I won't get near him again. I know what I did was fucked up and I can't blame it all on the squip, but I'm trying to get better. I'm not gonna get anywhere near you two." He stammered, stepping back.

Michael smiled slightly, before lowering his voice and stepping closer.

"Good. Because you already fucked Jeremy up enough- I might've told him just to ignore you, but not anymore. I almost lost my friend to a coma because of you. I won't hesitate to step in if you try anything." He whispered, the threat coming across clear.

Rich watched as Michael walked off, swinging an arm around Jeremy's shoulder and walking towards whatever class was next.

He should've expected that Michael would be pissed; he has EVERY DAMN REASON to be. He can't hate himself more than at this moment, can he?

Sighing, he continued his walk to his next class, unaware of which one it even is. His mind has been everywhere, and he can't even focus when there's what feels like a gaping hole in his mind.

Fuck it. He's not going to class.

Turning around, he looked back at the ground and didn't even notice when he slammed into someone. The breath is knocked out of him as he lands, desperately trying to get his things and get out.

"God, I'm so sorry." He scrambled to his feet, trying to grab his scattered books and paper, and trying not to cringe over his lisp.

"It's okay! I could tell you weren't looking where you were going." The cheerful voice makes him freeze, and he slowly makes eye contact with Christine Canigula.

"Are you okay?" She asked, smile dropping as she bent back down to help pick up his papers.

"Fine. I'm fine. I didn't mean to bump into you, it was an accident, I'm-I'm just gonna go now." He grabbed at the books and now crinkled worksheets, holding them to his chest as the ran for the library.

"Wait!"

He can hear her call, but whatever she was going to say next was drowned out by the loud ringing of the late bell. There's no reason to even try and get to whatever class he has now, anyway.

Ducking into the library, he let out a quiet sigh and quickly walked to his favorite table, before dumping his books on it.

"You left this behind."

Rich spun around, eyes wide in shock as Christine held out his notebook for the project.

"Answer me honestly, Rich. Are you okay?"

Rich carefully took the notebook from her outstretched hand, before sitting down and resting his elbows on the table.

"I'm fine. You shouldn't even be talking to me, it'll destroy what people think of you." He muttered, starting to rearrange his papers.

"Sweetie, I don't know if you realize that I don't care, AT ALL, what people think about me. I see someone's hurting? I'm going to talk to them, gosh darnit." She huffed, sitting across from him and resting her chin on her hands.

"I know you aren't fine. Rarely do people set a house fire, and are fine afterwards. I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

Rich wearily rubbed his eyes, yawning lightly.

"Everything is a mess. That's all I can really tell you. I'm stressing over this paper because the teacher paired me with Jeremy, the guy I tormented for years and I don't even know how to start apologizing. Do I even apologize? Will he even want to hear it? Where do I even start?" He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shivering slightly. The library was colder than usual.

"I think he'd appreciate an apology. I don't know what to do in this situation but I'm always here to listen. I can't relate to the torture you went through with your...squip? But I can promise as your friend I'm going to listen." She swore, a determined look on her face.

"You're not my friend, Christine. I don't have friends, and I'd like to keep it that way." He responded, opening his book.

He doesn't want friends. People will decide to hurt whoever is seen with him, and he doesn't want that for anyone. He's going to stay alone and quiet for the rest of highschool, and in college he'll try and branch out. For now, he's going to stay in the shadows and hope that no one approaches him.

"Well. I don't care what you say, I consider you my friend. And I respect you saying you want to be left alone, so have fun with it. You can always find me somewhere in the theater or in here somewhere, if you ever want to talk. I know you're hurting. Everyone is, at some point. You're just good at hiding it." She smiled sadly, patting him on the shoulder and checking her watch.

"I'll see you later, Rich. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Rich pulled his sleeves further down, and started to read the book. He's not going to class for the rest of the day. His grades are already low, there's not much damage he can do by skipping his classes. He'll make up for it later.

He should probably figure out where to meet up with Jeremy next, but that's hard to do when his anxiety doesn't even want to let him send a text.

His interaction with Michael is still bothering him. He can't shake the feeling of worthlessness and the guilt that's accompanying him. He'd let it go if he could, but since he has nothing else to do his brain is going to focus on it as always.

Might as well start on that history homework.

His phone chimed, and he carefully pulled it out of his backpack. He really doesn't want another anonymous death threat. He's grown tired of them.

He frowned, looking at the background of his phone. It's a picture of his mom. He needs to change it, considering the fact that all he thinks of is "her" electronic whispers and shocks.

Side effects of having your dead mother as your squip.

Back to the message: to his shock, it's from Jeremy.

**Jeremy**: hey Rich, I'm still sorry about what happened in the library yesterday. You aren't in class so I thought I'd make sure you're okay and everything. Just wanna make sure it isn't squip stuff.

Rich snorted, before unlocking his phone and typing an answer.

**Rich**: I'm fine. I didn't want to go to class. If it was squip things I certainly wouldn't tell you.

SHIT.

That sounded way less rude in his head.

**Rich**: I DIDNT MEAN LIKE THAT, I MEANT THAT IF I HAD SOMETHING SQUIP RELATED I WOULDNT TELL YOU SO YOU WOUDKNT WORRY

He dropped his head on the table, groaning. Of course he worded that wrong. He shouldn't be surprised— he doesn't have a squip parroting in his ear what is an acceptable text and what isn't anymore.

The phone chimes again, and Rich has to push away a wave of nausea as his anxiety shoots up.

He finally opens the message, wanting nothing more than to get it over with.

**Jeremy**: you're fine! Don't worry about it. And if it's squip stuff you should still tell me, Michael has some Mountain Dew red and I can get it. You matter too.

**Jeremy**: can't believe I'm double texting but do you want to meet at the library again or like do you want to go somewhere else? We can go to my house if you want.

**Rich**: that's fine

  
Rich tossed his phone back in his backpack, running his fingers through his hair as he stared down at the history homework.

The rest of the day will be Great, he's sure.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick a/n:  
I know the bmc fandom likes to pretend Michael didn't do anything wrong. I beg to differ- hence why I've done a characteristic analysis on him before writing this chapter. Michael might not be a person you like right now, but you need to remember that a lot of things happened for both of them and that Michael is like this. If you don't agree with how I think he is and how I write him, that's fine.

* * *

"Look, Michael, I can't go over to your house today. I know I said I was going to cause your moms want to see me, but..." Jeremy anxiously rubbed his arm, taking slight comfort from the cardigan wrapped around his frame.

They're standing in the parking lot- Rich is apparently going to be a little while due to a test in some class Jeremy wasn't paying attention to.

The cold air is whipping around him, chilly and sending the remaining few leaves clinging to the trees spiraling to the ground. The cold weather is nothing compared to the look in Michael's eyes, though.

"I'm doing something with Rich later. My dad is gonna drive us home and everything so we can "Get to know each other." His fingers went into the quotation mark motion, as Michael listened to his explanation.

"Sure. Your dad is a fucking idiot, Jeremy. Why the hell is he leaving you with Rich? It's not smart." He retorted, uncrossing his arms and looking down at his friend.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, trying to push back panic and...anger? He's not helpless.

"Because he trusts me, that's why. And he trusts Rich. He's not this warped version of a bad personality that you see, okay?" He huffed, picking at the loose string on his cardigan.

Michael rolled his eyes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and making direct eye contact with Jeremy.

"Last time anyone trusted you with anything, you almost doomed human life as we know it BECAUSE your partner told you about an abusive supercomputer that you decided to take because I just wasn't enough as a friend. Trust isn't the thing you two need right now, especially not Rich. He hurt you, Jeremy! How blind can you be to the ABUSE he put you through?! How dumb can you be?! First it was the SQUIP, now this?"

Jeremy snapped his gaze up from his feet, the bitter feeling of hurt and betrayal taking a hold on his heart and sending the waves of pain up through his body. It doesn't sting- it burns. It's cold, and it's racing across his body like ice. It burns and it's taking a hold of his body, freezing him in a position where he can't even make himself move even if he wanted. All he can do is stare into those cold brown eyes that are slowly starting to shine with worry and wonder why he had to start this mess in the first place.

"Jeremy?"

He can see as Michael reaches out to touch his arm; the second there's a connection, it's as if it's fire this time. Anger, scorching hot, roars over him faster than a wildfire.

"Don't fucking touch me." He steps back, vaguely aware of his hands shaking.

"I wouldn't have touched the fucking pill if my best friend had actually shown concern about me." He speaks as if the words are being torn from his throat; it burns and he can barely breath. The tears are here, and he's doing everything to keep them at bay.

"Maybe if you hadn't kept pushing away my loneliness and my worrying and actually listened to me instead of having that STUPID, naive outlook of the world, that it'll "be better in college", I wouldn't have taken the pill. Maybe if you made me feel like I could actually talk to you and you'd actually listen instead of telling me that being cool doesn't matter, when all I wanted was to be NOTICED, to be HEARD, to just have someone I could talk to I wouldn't have touched the damn pill."

He's shouting, the hot tears running down his face and giving him tiny jolts of shocks as a result of water connecting with slight squip scars.

"I get it! I'm a bad person. I left you when you were only trying to help me. But the thing that haunts me now, the same fucking behavior and expression you're making is reminding me of the play. I was SCARED. I was fighting for control of my body. And you asked for an apology THEN! Then, when I was doing everything to stop the takeover of the world. You know what your hesitation told me?!"

He's hysterical: he has so much to say and he can't manage to even get the words out the right way. He has to make Michael see. He has to show him why. He has to, because Rich isn't a bad person, this isn't about Rich but then it is because Rich isn't a bad person and Michael doesn't KNOW what having a squip is like and-

"Your hesitation told me I wasn't worth enough." He hiccuped, harshly wiping his tears as he struggled to put into words what he was thinking.

"Because an apology was more important than me. Your feelings were more important than me. And I'm sorry, Michael, for the stupid stunt in the bathroom. But you, you have to understand, okay? I thought the world was gonna end and it was all my fault. I was gonna say sorry, of course I was, but why did you have to ask for an apology THEN? Why did you have to let your grudge get the better hold of you? Why did you have to be PETTY?" He squeezed his eyes shut, moving his hands to his hair and pulling tightly as he tried to calm down.

He opens them again a second later, and fuck. Michael's crying.

He doesn't say anything, because Michael runs to his car a second later without even uttering a word.

Jeremy wipes his eyes again, struggling to take a breath as he walks towards the school and leans against the wall, before sitting down and burying his head in his arms. His dad should be here soon; and he hopes he doesn't ask what's wrong. He doesn't even know where he'd start to explain.

* * *

It's a few minutes later when Jeremy hears the telltale sound of the doors to the school opening- the rubbery squeak is loud enough for him to hear it from where he's at. Footsteps start echoing off the pavement, and he doesn't even care to move.

"Jeremy?"

He recognizes Rich's voice. It's so weird to hear his name come from Rich now, because it actually sounds concerned; not like before when it was a menacing shout as he searched the hallways for him.

The footsteps quicken, and he sees Rich throw his backpack to the ground as he runs up to him and sits on his knees next to him.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He asked, and Jeremy has to let out a weak chuckle because no, he's not physically hurt, but his heart feels like it's ripped in half and he's choking on his tears.

"I'm fine."

He lifts his head, resting it against the brick wall and sighing as the cold air started to dry his tears.

"No, you're not. Don't lie to yourself and don't lie to me." Rich carefully placed his hand on Jeremy's arm, trying to get him to open up.

"You're crying. Was it...you know." He grimaces while tapping his temple, and Jeremy sighs.

"Something like that."

Jeremy stops leaning against the wall, stumbling to his feet and rubbing his hands together.

"You know..."

Jeremy turns, and Rich is scraping his shoe on the pavement.

"If you ever wanna talk about anything related to it, I'll listen. I know what it's like. And I wanna make up for all the shit I did to you, so...if you ever just wanna talk about it, I'll listen."

Jeremy feels the tears come back again, and before he can even comprehend what's happening he's crying again.

Rich is panicked, and Jeremy laughs a little at his expression.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You'll really listen?"

Rich nods, fingers playing with the edges of the coat he's wearing.

"It's... well, it's a long story and like, I don't want to bore you or anything with it but I really need to tell someone or I'll be upset for a while and-"

Rich's hands are on his, and his face is set in worried determination.

"You can tell me. It's not like I'll tell anyone if you're worried about it, either. I have no friends and no one would want to listen anyway. What's up?"

Jeremy sniffs again, but before he can say anything, His dad's car comes around the corner and pulls into the parking lot.

"It doesn't matter." He says, starting to walk towards the car.

Rich grabs his backpack and quickly catches up to him, and Jeremy can only sigh as he opens the car door and gets in the back.

"You can ride shotgun if you want."

Rich hesitates for a moment, and Jeremy can see the conflicted look in his face over the fact that there's no computer telling him what the best option is. He finally settles by scooting in the back as well, shutting the door and leaning against the window.

"How was school, boys?" Mr. Heere asks, and Jeremy builds up his walls again before responding.

"It was okay. Thanks for driving us home, dad. I don't trust myself behind a steering wheel yet." The lie slips out easily, and he can't help but notice himself in the rear view mirror and realize how fake his smile seems.

"No problem, Jeremy. It's my job, as a dad." He answered, focusing on the road.

Jeremy doesn't talk after that- the rest of the car ride is silence, accentuated by the sniffle every few minutes that he would pass off as a cold. Rich keeps looking at him with concern, and He can't help but wonder why he took that stupid, stupid pill in the first place.

He's destroyed any chance of repairing anything with Michael but he had to say it. He had to say something or he was going to scream. Rich isn't a bad person because Rich had the Squip- and Michael doesn't KNOW what it's like to have something so manipulative.

But Michael saved him. Jeremy's ungrateful, he doesn't even deserve Michael as a friend, he fucked him over and Michael was allowed to be mad so why is he upset? Why couldn't he have just shut up? Why did he have to bring that up? It's all his fault, it's always his fault, he's ruined the one good thing he had forever because Michael didn't deserve that and Michael didn't deserve him and he can't help but remember the look on Michael's face and the terror of the play and how could he say that to Michael in the parking lot? How could he insult his friend to the point Michael was crying and why does he have to be such a fuckup and-

"Jeremy? Buddy, you're scaring me. Can you hear me?"

He finally looks around, and realizes they're at home. His dad is standing in front of him, the car door open and wearing a worried expression.

"That was a quick ride home." He states, ignoring Rich's very worried expression and his Dad's as he undoes his seatbelt.

"Jeremy, are you sure you're okay?" 

Jeremy smiles, as his dad moves out of the way and he steps out of the car.

"I'm fine."


	8. Chapter 8

The first thought that Rich has after walking in to Jeremy's room is clear:

Jeremy's room is scary.

Not because it's chaos incarnate or anything- but because it's so clean and just so EMPTY. If Jeremy was a "loser," he would've expected something a little more chaotic from his bedroom, not this uncomfortable emptiness. It's similar to the hospital, and that itself is a bad memory.

There's an empty fish tank, along with the bed and desk. Aside from that, the room is spotless. It's unnerving.

"Sorry about my room. I know it's not the cleanest." Jeremy rushes forward, quickly making his bed and rearranging the few things he had on his nightstand.

"Jeremy, your room is spotless. It's far from a mess. You don't really live like this, do you?" Rich hesitantly asks, stepping forward on the carpet. He really doesn't want to disturb anything in this room. It's surreal and ethereal, in a way.

"Of course I do." Jeremy answers, avoiding eye contact as he starts to rearrange the 5 pencils he had on his desk. It's a nervous habit. Is he making him nervous? That's the last thing he wants.

However, he did treat him horribly, so it's expected.

"Come on. Don't just stand there." Jeremy beckoned him forward, before falling on his bed.

Rich walks to the edge of the bed, cautiously sitting down as he placed his sweaty hands on his jeans. The one thing he'll never do is wipe his sweaty hands on Jeremy's sheets.

They're in awkward silence for a few moments, before Jeremy speaks again.

"Who was your squip?"

Okay. Looks like he's starting the questions head on.

Rich grimaces, weighing his words as he tries to figure out what to say. He doesn't want to talk about this.

"My mom. She died at the end of middle school, and I guess when the squip started up it took the form of the person I would listen to most. Just...don't pity me, okay? I don't want that."

Jeremy sat up, eyeing him momentarily before looking to his hand, a few inches from Rich's.

"I wonder why my squip didn't do that," He muses, starting to bite his lip. "I mean, now that I think about it. I would've listened to my mom over Keanu Reeves, you know?"

Rich turns to look at him, but before he can say anything, Jeremy cuts him off.

"Yeah. My mom's gone too. She's not dead or anything, but she left. That's...probably what helped with my downfall." He stopped biting his lip, before looking back up at Rich.

"I mean, I know you said you wanted to be cool and everything in the bathroom, but I feel like it's more than that. Why'd you really take it? Because like, I was tired of not having anyone. Michael wouldn't listen to me, or anything, or actually let me explain why I wanted to talk. And you know...Christine, and everything." Jeremy's frowning, fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

Rich takes a deep breath, staring down at his feet. There's really no reason to hold it back. They have to get to "know each other" for this project, anyway.

"The squip made me tell you, first of all. I didn't want to say anything about my life before, but she forced me. I was suicidal because my home life did and still does suck. Shit like that. And I really, really missed my mom and the thought of something helping me better myself? I don't know, I jumped for the opportunity. As seen, it was a terrible idea and ruined my life, and yours too. My fault, of course." He huffs, the memories of the startup coming back.

He'd been so happy to see his mom- the fact that she was digital didn't matter. She was THERE, and he could see her and she told him that things were going to be okay and she'd help him make a friend he could talk to.

He did, in a way. He didn't get to talk about himself, though. Each word that came from his mouth was filled with lies, each one only adding more to the web that was slowly choking the life out of him.

And of course, he was forced to reveal his only secret he was ashamed of in a successful attempt to get Jeremy to take the squip. He can almost taste the bitter foam of the medication again.

He snaps back to attention when Jeremy touches his shoulder, and can feel the slight tremor before he flinches, turning to look at the other boy.

"You were zoning out. I'm sorry I asked you that." He apologizes, and Rich shakes his head, trying to shake away the glaring emptiness in his head.

"It's fine. It's probably better I talked about it, instead of holding back. Just...you're the only one who knows what it's like, but I don't want to inconvenience you with it, especially not if you were crying earlier, speaking of that, you still haven't told me what that was about." He inhaled quickly, about to go on another rant before Jeremy stops him.

He's nervous again. He's pushing his glasses up his nose, despite them not having slipped down.

"It's just...it's a long story. And I don't even know if I can talk about it without crying. Let's just say it's a story for another time." He finally says, and Rich accepts it. He doesn't know if he'd even be able to listen in entirety.

"We're fucked up." He states, starting to laugh softly as he leans back on the bed.

There's stars on the ceiling.

That's something he didn't see earlier- it adds character to the room, if only slightly. It's arranged in some constellation- if you asked the Rich from 3 years ago, he'd be able to give you the name of it. He's not that Rich anymore.

"I mean, you're not wrong." Jeremy flops down beside him, looking up at the stars too.

"I want you to know that I'm not sticking around you for just the project. I was gonna check on you anyway. You weren't doing too good when I was in the hospital." He crossed his hands on his chest, as Rich looks at him from the corner of his eye.

"You think? I was higher than the moon on painkillers."

"Oh." Jeremy's voice trails off, signaling the start of an awkward silence.

"Do you re-"

"Did you-"

They both stop talking, Rich reprimanding himself silently.

"You first."

"I was just going to ask if you remembered anything from when I woke up. You just said something, and I just wanted to know if you remembered it or anything." Jeremy asked, sitting up and moving to lean on the headboard. Rich sighs, sitting up too. He remembers very well.

He can lie, or tell the truth- and at this point he doesn't want to lie ever again unless someone's in danger.

"I came out to you, right? My looped-up self finally realized what was going on after the squip stopped preventing those kind of thoughts. That's why I kinda flirted with your friend, I think? I think I did that. It doesn't matter anyway, because he's hot and all but he hates my guts. I mean, I deserve it. Plus...I'm not looking for a relationship. I'm not ready for that." He sighs, rubbing his temple. 

Jeremy stopped biting his nails, which he'd started doing right after Rich started talking.

"Yeah. You said you were bi. I'm pleased to know I was the first one you came out to." He teased, and Rich rolled his eyes before flipping him off.

"Very funny. My turn: have you talked to Christine at all?"

Jeremy paled, shaking his head slightly.

"I don't know how. The feelings I had for her are still there, but... I don't want to act on them. I don't feel like I want to. The idea makes me feel like puking. Not because she's a bad person or anything! But she deserves someone better than me, and I think right now all I need is friends. I'm not in a good enough place mentally for a relationship. Plus...I realize that with the squip, I was idolizing her and thought of her more as a prize than a human. I shouldn't think like that, ever, and I need to work on it." He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and looking back at Rich.

"Yeah. We're fucked up. But at least we had some "friendly experiences," like the project requires. Two friendless assholes only have each other. This could be the plot of some book or movie someday."

"I'm pretty sure they've done something like that before. Sorry, Jeremy." Rich laughed lightly, slowly starting to relax.

"Well, they haven't added the squips, now have they? We can make things interesting if we pitch this to a director and make the lead squip Beyoncé or something. Spice it up a little bit." Jeremy laughed along, before quieting a few minutes later. It's not awkward this time.

"Boys, do you need anything?" Mr. Heere opens the door, and Rich flinches before he can stop himself. Fuck this habit.

"We, uh, We're good, dad. I think. I mean, I am, but do you want anything, Rich?" Jeremy carried on like he didn't see the flinch, but Rich knows that both of the Heeres saw it.

"I'm good. I should probably head home, actually...if that's not an inconvenience or anything." He stood up, stretching and trying to avoid the worried look Jeremy threw at him.

"Of course not, it's no issue at all." Mr. Heere walked out of the room, but Jeremy silently grabbed Rich's hand to prevent him from leaving.

"Are you okay?"

His voice is gentle; worried, even. It's shining in his eyes, and Rich simply smiles because he lied to himself earlier about not lying.

"I'm fine."

He's not.


	9. Chapter 9

"No! Fuck, Stop! Please, don't do that." Jeremy is pleading, fighting against his squip's control.

Michael turns to him, watching in cold and bitter amusement as the old, crimson colored soda spilled from the bottle, hitting the stage and splattering. The world seems to come to a halt, time freezing as the dread in Jeremy's chest rises up his throat and threatens to choke him. He can feel the tears prick his eyes, and the laughing of the others is making everything spin. Chloe's harsh laugh, Jenna's loud one. It hurts, but is nothing compared to the incessant, ringing in his ears that isn't stopping. It's getting louder and louder, and he can't do anything but watch as Christine comes through the crowd, eyes sparkling unnaturally as words of love and devotion fell from her lips.

This isn't right. He wants to wake up. He needs to wake up. He can't do this, this isn't REAL, they stopped this, the squip is gone the squip is gone the squip is gone-

A shock rips down his spine, sending him the ground as he lets out a wail. His knees makes contact with the stage, and he can't even recognize the pain.

His tormentor materializes in front of him, smiling calmly and gesturing to the crowd of now quiet teens, all staring at him with those empty eyes.

"This is what you wanted, Jeremy. I kept my promise. You can thank your friend for that."

Jeremy starts to shake, mouth dry as he tries to find a solution. Michael walks closer, his eyes unreadable as he gets down on his knees in front of Jeremy. Red lines crisscross across his face, shining in the dark of the auditorium. There is no noise besides the breathing of the surrounding cast.

Michael frowns, face twisted in confusion and slight anger. His fingers reach out, trailing across Jeremy's cheek softly.

Jeremy swallows. He doesn't know what's going on. Something's wrong. Something's wrong and he doesn't know what to do. Why did Michael dump the drink? Is he mad over the apology? What's going on? Why is everything so dark and why does he feel so ALONE?

"Fuck you." Michael hisses, giving him his answer. His fingers retreating sharply before he snaps them, glaring at Jeremy all the while.

Jeremy wakes up.

* * *

He can't focus. The squip is gone. The squip is gone. It was destroyed at the play.

It feels like it isn't.

He walks down the hallway of the school, sighing in a mixture of relief and guilt that Michael isn't at his locker. Maybe he should request to have it changed.

No, he can't do that. He has to stop being a coward. He's done that already.

His new backpack is light, but he feels like it attracts attention. There is no boyf written on this one, and there will never be. That's a slight amount of consolation for him, but then his mind starts to drift to Rich.

Enough. He isn't doing this right now. He has to make it to class, and wonder if his desperate clinging to the rock wall of popularity will grant him a seat in this class.

He's aware of each step, and finds himself listening as he walks. Madeline apparently has been getting around again- she was caught with the sub for trigonometry. That's going to keep Jenna occupied for a while.

Speaking of Jenna, that's someone else he needs to apologize to. He makes a mental note, gripping the strap of his backpack as he pushes open the door to whatever class this is. He can't remember, nor does he care. He's a student roaming the halls with no desire to fix things with the damaged part of himself, because he knows that it will all come crashing down yet again.

He's a few seconds away from being late, and as he rapidly surveys the classroom for a seat, he feels his world come crashing down as his defenses shoot straight up. The only empty seat is next to none other than Christine.

"Mr. Heere, you're already late. Please take your seat next to Ms. Canigula so the lesson can begin." The teacher states, pulling out some textbook.

The room smells like chalk, and Jeremy realizes how tight he's clenching his fists as he stiffly drops his backpack to the ground, sliding into his seat and trying to dispel the feeling of nausea due to his nerves.

This isn't like before.

This isn't the heart stopping, feeling like butterflies were rushing through his stomach feeling. There is no giddiness here, no barely hidden smiles disguised by biting his lip. He isn't head over heels for her anymore, and it's due to his own faults. This is the thundering roar of doubt, and the lightning strikes of anxiety as he turns his attention to the board.

He can see Christine looking at him out of the corner of his eye, so he drops his gaze to his lap. His chewed fingernails are more important to look at now. He just has to make it through this class, and he can vanish into the throngs of students again as he does what he does best: put off his problems because he knows no one would care to listen, right?

The teacher drones on and on, and Jeremy rests his chin on his hand as he tries to shake the fragments of his dream away.

His mind refuses to let it go, as the slight prickle of discomfort starts in the back of his mind. The squip is gone. He shouldn't worry. It can't come back, it can't make him hurt Michael any more than he already has, and-

_ **Because you've already done that without my help.** _

He jolts, hand falling against the desk. His pencil clatters unceremoniously to the floor, as he swallows harshly.

No. No, this shouldn't be happening. It's gone. He shouldn't hear Keanu Reeves in his head again.

"Jeremy? Are you okay?" Christine whispers, which comes across as quite loud. She couldn't manage a whisper, even if she tried.

He doesn't answer. The words refuse to come out, as he bites his lip again. The silence in his head is still there, but he knows he didn't imagine what just happened. He couldn't have.

"Jeremy Heere!"

He flies back, all too aware of the slight titters and giggles he could hear around the classroom.

"Young man, we all know you did ecstasy at the play but I'm simply asking you to stay drug free in this class." The teacher sighs, rubbing his temple.

Before he can realize it, tears are stinging his eyes and he struggles to clear the situation.

"I'm- I'm not on ecstasy, I promise, I-" he swallowed, before continuing. "I'm just not having a good day."

"I'll take him to the nurse, he doesn't look too good." Christine states, placing her palms against the desk as she stands to her feet.

"Ms. Canigula, you know this is a very important part of the module." The teacher speaks, disdain evident in his tone.

Jeremy blinked quickly, trying to stop the tears that are begging to break free from running down his face. He can't cry. He can't cry here, in front of the class, over some stupid thing he brought onto himself.

"I'll get the section notes from someone else. Come on, Jeremy."

He stands to his feet, grabbing his backpack off the floor and trying to take a deep breath.

Christine is in front of him, leading him along the back of the classroom to the door. Before all this, he would've died to hold Christine's hand. Now, he's simply dreading the conversation he knows she's going to bring up.

The second they're outside of the class, the tears start to fall and there's nothing he can do about it. They're hot, and he doesn't like being able to feel them weighing heavily on his lashes. Christine is still walking, throwing concerned glances over her shoulder every few minutes. Jeremy focuses on the tile floor, barely even thinking as they start to slow down.

"Come on. No one will bother us in here." She pulls open the door, and only then does he look where they are. It's the auditorium. In the auditorium is the stage, and the stage was where he almost doomed human civilization.

"No. God, please, no. Don't make me go in there." He backs up, pulling his hand from Christine's as he realizes how much he's shaking. He can't go in there. Not after everything that's happened, and not after his dream from last night.

"Okay! Okay, we won't go in there, just stay with me. Take some deep breaths." Christine speaks softly, approaching him as if he were a wounded animal.

"I'm sorry I brought you over here, I didn't think. It's too cold to go outside, so..." she bites her lip, before snapping her fingers excitedly. "We'll go to the prop closet. You can tell me what's wrong there."

She holds her hand out, the excitement fading from her eyes and replaced with concern. Jeremy can't help but feel guilt; this is his fault, after all.

"Do you want to hold my hand, or are you okay with walking beside me?"

He immediately slides his hand in hers. It's been too long since he had any physical touch from anyone that THEY initiated. He misses it, and it's another thing he's been deprived of for months.

"Come on, then." She squeezes his hand, before reaching up and carefully wiping away one of the tears that had dripped to his chin.

They start to walk down the hallways again, and Jeremy tries to push down his emotions. He has to be able to tell her what's wrong because she won't let him go otherwise; and he has to be able to tell it without breaking down into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRIENDS CAN HOLD HANDS WITHOUT DATING. Just because two people are holding hands does not mean they’re in a relationship: hence Jeremy and Christine. This is a jerich fic and all interactions between him and Christine are platonic. Thank you.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is Rich angst so. Be prepared I guess? I know my interpretation of him after the fire isn’t as well known by the majority of the fandom but I really think this is just the tip of the iceberg of how bad things are for him.

* * *

  
The second his alarm goes off, Rich hates absolutely everything. He really doesn't want to get up; he's sore, and school just doesn't sound like something he's willing to suffer through today. He doesn't want to do it ANY day, but today is definitely the worst day involving his nonexistent motivation.

You know what? Fuck his failing education. He's skipping school. He knows that things won't change for himand that he's being a COWARD for avoiding his problems, but it's the only thing he knows how to do. Run. Run and hide. He did it for years, readjusting won't be so hard, will it?

There's also the fact that there's no way he could go in with the bruises from yesterday and manage to make it through the entirety of the day. Not when he knows what people would do. Some are still scared of him, worried that he's going to burn down the school, but the jocks are getting brave. He can't and doesn't fight back- he will never make himself because he DESERVES this- and they take advantage of knowing that. The words they spit hurt worse, though, even though he knows he deserves to hear it.

His back hurts from even laying on the bed; a side effect of being slammed into lockers. He's hating being short again- not that he ever stopped, but it wasn't a bad thing that he was short when he had the squip. It's gotten to the point that the most daring assholes will stare down at him as they pin him to a locker, away from the curious glances of everyone in the school. At least he maintains a little bit of dignity right now; It's terrifying and it's basically freshman year all over, but this time there's nothing he can take to make everything go away. He's pathetic.

So, he's staying home today. He knows that things will be much worse for him tomorrow, but for now, the bedroom door is locked, the shades are shut, and he's alone, laying on his side and looking at the closet.

His old clothes are still in there.

He doesn't fit into the majority of nerdy tees and sweaters- but he's losing muscle mass every day that he refuses to work out because it reminds him of HER, her strict regime, the way she would only praise him after degrading him for hours upon end. He probably could wear them again, if he keeps losing weight.

His muscle tees and other loose tanks are in there too; but... that's what squipped Rich would wear. That's what the monster he was known as would wear. He doesn't want to wear those.

Should he, though?

Should he act "normal?" Would people accept him again with open arms if he acts like the Rich they knew? Would they forget this ever happened and would he take his spot back as if everything he did never happened? As if he didn't burn his "best friend's" home down? As if he DIDN'T terrorize kids to the point that they tried to off themselves?

Or would he be insulted? Would he be spat on, told that he's worthless? Would Jenna tweet his pathetic, lisping attempt at an apology to everyone? Would they laugh?

He can't just walk up to them. He wishes he still had the confidence the squip gave him- he never wants to hear her again but some things WERE better. He could handle a conversation. He had confidence. He always knew what to say, what to wear. He doesn't have that anynore and it's HARD. It's hard and he doesn't know if he can make it through this still standing. He wasn't supposed to make it.

Would he be told he scares people if he walks around showcasing his burns? That's something he can't do. He can't. He can't let people see that- he can't let people see that he's broken. Broken and burned by a choice he made that didn't even work out in his favor.

He sighed, moving onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

He doesn't want to be alone again; but he doesn't want to even try to make amends. What was done is done; no amount of apologizing will ever be enough for what he's done to countless people. He will NEVER earn a chance to give someone an apology, and frankly, he feels as if he doesn't even deserve to try. It would be meaningless compared to the other things he's done in his life, right? And not to mention, to make things worse; his sexuality.

He's scared. He's scared of himself and he's scared of claiming it. That sounds stupid when he says it, but god. He's scared.

Did his squip know before he did? Is that why she threw him towards every girl who even glanced at him and made him hurt the ones he truly cared about?

Would his Mom have been supportive, or would she have reacted the same as the squip? By throwing him at girls and doing everything to convince him otherwise? He'll never know, and that's what hurts.

He doesn't really know if people at school know anything. He's heard some unflattering words directed at him, but he thinks his true orientation is safe. Jeremy and his friend are the only ones that know. He hopes it stays that way- he doesn't want to be outed.

The mere thought of that makes him feel sick. Like usual; he hasn't felt okay since before the party. And even then? That wasn't even okay. That was barely holding on.

Groaning, he pushed himself up and rested his feet on the carpeted floor. The house is quiet, but it's not like before. He was thankful for the silence, but he's now paranoid. It's just a littlemuch, and although there's nothing in his head anymore, he still feels like someone's watching him. It's strange; peculiar, even.

_ **It's not that strange, dearest.** _

He froze, his body going still as he tries to push away the wave of nausea that rushed over him. No. No way. This isn't happening, she's gone, she can't talk to him again, she's GONE. She's supposed to be gone.

_ **Hate to disappoint. What have done to yourself, Richard? You're destroying all my hard work.** _

Rich tries not to vomit, his hand shakily covering his mouth as the other grips the sheets. "You're gone. You aren't here. I'm imagining this. You're dead. The soda killed you." _For the second time._

He stood to his feet, starting to pace as his anxiety levels elevated. She's supposed to be gone. Why is she back? She can't be back. He won't be able to do this. He can't sit here and listen to her, and do things he doesn't want to do. He can't do it, he can't handle that stress. It'll kill him if he doesn't kill himself.

** _I highly advise against that. I can still help you, Richard, Ỉ̴͜ ̷̭̀p̸͙̔r̷̪̎o̷̢͆m̶̬̅i̶͕̇s̶̥̈ê̴̱._ **

"I don't want your help. I want you to shut the fuck up and leave me alone!" He yelled, his pacing growing faster as he realizes he's unable to breathe. Wonderful.

_ **I̴'̴l̵l̵ ̵b̸e̶ ̸b̵a̶c̷k̸.̵** _

Just like that, there's silence again. He's going to die. He can't do this, not again.

There's only person he knows who understands the terror and horror he feels.

He could feel a sob trying to break free, as he angrily wiped his face. Boys don't cry.

_ **That's right.** _

"SHUT UP!" He shouted, and grabbed whatever was nearest to him and hurls it at the wall. He has to make noise, something to stop the fucking SILENCE that's enveloping the room. He has to do something. He can't sit here and take this.

It was a lamp. It shattered, glass ricocheting off the wall and embedding into the carpet. The crash brings him back to reality, as his labored breaths slowly started to return to the normal level.

"Fuck. I'm..." He hesitated, as the tears finally spilled over, "I'm a monster. I'm dangerous."

He fell on his knees, the energy and panic draining away. The only emotions that he can even recognize are anger and sadness, as the tears fall from his eyes and hit the carpet. This fucking sucks. He only realized how hard he threw the lamp when he looked up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face. That's another thing he isn't used to having- his hair in his face. The lamp is absolutely shattered, broken beyond repair.

Just like him.

Standing again, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and shakily typed in the number he still can't believe he has. He waited with bated breath, hoping that Jeremy answers.

It goes to voicemail. Of fucking course it does, he's in school. But, he doesn't have any other alternative. He has to say something.

So, he does.

"Hey, Jeremy. I think you're in class, I don't know. I don't know. I'm... I don't want to worry you or anything because god, you don't deserve it, but I'm terrified. I'm hearing my squip again. I don't know why's she's back but I want her gone. I don't want to listen to her. I can't handle the degrading comments? I don't know what I'm saying. But I just wanted to let you know...and I don't know why. Maybe because we're doing this stupid project. I don't know. This is stupid and I'm sorry for bothering you."

He hung up, tossing his phone in some random direction of his room as he let out a shaky breath. He doesn't know what to do. There's a buzzing in his mind that's growing louder by the second, and he just needs it to stop. He needs to find a solution.

He can't ask headphones kid for some of the Mountain Dew red; he doesn't deserve to ask. He has no right to ask for anything from anyone. He's done nothing but take, take, take. He shouldn't get anything from anyone.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up from his floor and around the room.

It's quiet again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, I’m sorry for the LATE chapter, but you know school. A pain in the ass. With the holidays coming up, I’ll try and get another update out before Christmas but it probably won’t happen.

"Alright. Tell me what's up."

The prop closet is larger than he would've expected; but that's not what matters at the moment. There's a small bulb illuminating the small chaise Christine is sitting on, hands on her knees as she waited for him to speak.

"I...I might as well start with an apology." He swallowed nervously, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"An apology? Jeremy, what for?" She asked, concern etched all over her face. Jeremy frowned, avoiding eye contact. She doesn't need to be concerned about him.

"I don't know how to start this. I'm just going to rip the bandaid off." He sat up straighter, dismissing the faint echo of _"posture"_ that was whispered.

"I had a crush on you. Maybe I still do...I don't know. The thing is, I thought of you more as this perfect person, who could never do anything wrong, I guess. I don't know. I ruined the school play, I squipped people without thinking of the consequences, just my foolish self. I tried to get you to take one. I'm so sorry... and that's not even all of it. I didn't just take the squip for you, even though it seems like it, now that I look at this mess."

This is way harder than he expected. He doesn't know how to say this. He's never had the chance to open up to anyone before; his mom and dad were always busy, fighting their clients or each other. Then the divorce; and Michael never really showed interest in hearing out his issues anyway. He doesn't even know how to say this.

"Oh, well, guess what? Fuck them."

He snapped back to attention, horrified by _NOT ONLY DID HE SAY ALL THAT OUT LOUD,_ but by Christine's angry response.

"Christ. I never knew you were feeling this way. Jeremy, I wish you'd come to me sooner." She pushed her hair behind her ears, grabbing His hands and looking up at him sternly.

"You have my full attention. I don't care if you mumble the words, or anything. The fact that you're even trusting me to talk to about it is such a big step. But don't talk about it all if it's too much, you were in the freaking hospital a while ago. You know what? I'll stop talking now."

He felt his eyes sting again, and shook his head slightly in an attempt to stop them from spilling over.

"I... I just miss my mom, too. I know this is lame to bring up, but I didn't have anyone to turn to. That's why I took the squip. Of course, I wanted to impress you and get you to like me because god, Christine, you're an amazing person. Overall, I just couldn't bear to be the silent weirdo who got picked on every day. Michael would try to help, I guess, but telling me every time I tried to bring it up that we'd be cool in college and that highschool doesn't matter didn't really do much for me." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at the floor. Dusted boards, coated in scratches from previous props. A few cobwebs, a few dust bunnies. The floor is interesting.

"Hey. Look at me." Christine's gaze is warm, and Jeremy has to take a deep breath before calming down.

"You're allowed to miss her. God knows I'd miss my aunt if she and my uncle split. I know what it's like to have a parental figure leave, Jeremy, even though my circumstances are different. You're allowed to be upset over it."

"But I can't be. I can't be upset about it. I have to be the bigger person at home, because my dad can't even function on his own without her. He's doing better now, I guess, but I can't show emotion. He doesn't even know how to talk to me about it, or about anything. And the fact I practically spit in his face before I left for the play...I'm the reason for it. I'm the reason for it all and I have to step up and take responsibility for it. Because what if he goes back to the way he was before? Old habits can't be easily broken." The tears are back, goddammit. The side of the chaise is pressed against his back, as he draws his knees to his chest.

"That's bullshit, first of all." Christine piped, causing Jeremy to choke on one of his shaky exhales, making shocked eye contact with her.

"You're a kid, Jeremy. Well, not really a kid, because you aren't small like one but..." she trails off for a second, snapping back to focus with a fierceness in her gaze that wasn't there before, "You're not responsible for his choices. You're his son, and you are supposed to be his main priority. The fact that he can't handle it doesn't mean that it's your fault. And if he does go back to the way he was? You can always come to my house with me. You don't have to be an adult, Jeremy. Not yet. We still have a year and a half...don't waste your last years of being a kid by society's standards on an issue that you shouldn't be in. It's not your fault. It's never been your fault."

His lip starts to tremble, as he reaches up to wipe his eyes again. Christine isn't done, though.

"And your friend? I'm sorry he didn't listen to you. I'm sorry he pushed you aside. I see why you took the squip, and I forgive you, Jeremy. That might seem too soon, or whatever, but I can see you're hurting and that this hurts you more than anything. I forgive you and it's okay." She was tearing up, because she can't believe the pain that she never knew was there. Jeremy's crying silently, knuckles white from how tightly he's holding on to his knees.

"Can I hug you?" She pushes away the hair that was in his face, as she waited nervously. Jeremy nodded, scrambling to get his legs away from his chest so he could actually hug her.

He can't breathe. It's as if the life is being squeezed out of him, but he doesn't care. He hasn't had a hug, a genuine one, in who knows how long. His dad doesn't give hugs. Michael's never been big on physical affection, not in the years they've been friends. He's still crying, and he knows his tears are hitting her shirt but he doesn't really feel sorry right now. He'll apologize later.

However, after about 20 seconds, he seriously can't breathe. The hug has already made him feel better, and even though he hasn't said even the tip of the iceberg, it's just the fact that Christine was willing to listen that matters.

"You're kinda suffocating me." He wheezed, trying to squeeze out of her grip.

"Sorry, sorry. You just really needed it."She broke the hug, scooting back and sighing.

"Something's still bothering me, though. You were...off, in class, but you jolted like something had shocked you."

Jeremy winced, as Christine's eyes widened in horror.

"Because something did...," she mumbled, "The squip is back, Isn't it?"

There's no use lying. There's nothing he can say to pass off what happened, unless he claims he just had a cold shiver.

"Yeah. It didn't shock me, though. I don't think it can."

Christine is some mix of fury, confusion, and worry, biting her lip as she drums her fingers on the worn chaise.

"Michael's his name, right?"

Jeremy hates the pang of sadness that hits him at his name, but nods anyway. He shouldn't act like this. It's his own fault, that the fight started. He should be thinking about why Christine changed the subject so suddenly.

"We're going to hunt him down if necessary and ask him if he has any more of that soda. That's what shut them down and sent you to the hospital, right?"

"Yeah, but, it doesn't matter. I don't have to talk to him. It's not that big of a deal, it's only a voice right now, it can't do much, besides talk. I'm good. Trust me, Christine, I'm fine." He swung his legs around, feet touching the floorboards as he picked up his backpack.

"Jeremy." Christine's voice is soft, and he can't help but look at her.

"You can accept help. I know that it's hard to ask, but, I just want to help you. He's your friend, of course he's going to help you."

Jeremy scoffed, a bitter laugh forcing its way out of him as he shuffled his foot on the ground.

"We got in a fight. I doubt he'll even want to look at my face. I...I can't tell you what happened. Not right here, not right now. But I can't ask him for anything. I don't deserve it." His glasses slid down the bridge of his noise, much to his annoyance.

Christine stood up as well, glaring up at him in her shorter fury. It's a sight to see.

"You do deserve it. And if you won't ask him? I will. I need to see if there's a reason for me to stage a theatrical accident for him that cuts his time in the play of life short."

"God, Christine. No killing anyone. I don't have enough money to bail you out. I spent my bar mitzvah money on a super computer that fucked me over. I'm broke." He elbowed her lightly, reveling in the smirk she gave him.

"Well. I'll just have to make sure I'm not caught."

To the shock and surprise of both of them, Jeremy's backpack pocket started to vibrate, causing the banter to cease.

"Hold on, let me get this, I just. I always check, Michael used to poke fun at me because "we're losers, Jeremy, who would be calling you?" But I always like to check, cause, I don't know. Maybe I think it's my mom. She never calls, though, it's always messages. I'll stop rambling now." He knelt down on his knees, trying to disguise his disgust from having to kneel on the nasty ground. Of course, the zipper on the backpack chose to be stuck at that moment.

He also didn't know that Christine had her fingers clenched around a small pebble she kept in her pocket, trying to stave away her anger for a little while. She has QUITE a few words for Michael Mell.

"Shit. I missed the call.... and it was from Rich?" It was supposed to be a statement, but came out as more of a surprised question.

Jeremy unlocked his phone, clicking on the app and even more intrigued to see the voicemail. It's not a good intrigued; he can feel the sense of foreboding already crushing him before pressing play.

It's only when Rich's broken voice trails off and the voicemail ends, does he look up at Christine. She's biting her lip, hands on her hips as she finally sighed.

"We don't really have a choice but to talk to him now, do we? This isn't just about you anymore. I refuse to let my two friends suffer, even if Rich blatantly claims I'm not his friend." She extends her hand, pulling him back up from the ground.

"In fact? Just go to your next class. I'll talk to Michael. I'll pull my damsel in distress act, okay? You don't have to talk to him until you're ready."

Jeremy sighed in relief, feeling the guilt accompany him like always. He shouldn't be relieved to not have to see Michael; that's not how best friends act. Then again, they really aren't best friends now anymore, are they?

"I'll see you later. Meet me here after next period, I'll get Dustin to drive us to Rich's. Just stay calm. I'm gonna fix this." She promised, walking out the closet door. Jeremy flicked the light off, shutting the door after himself.

"Okay. Thanks, Christine. I wish I'd been able to talk to you earlier."

"It's in the past. As Mr. Reyes said, let it go."

Jeremy smiled, shaking his head slightly as he moves his backpack to the other shoulder.

"See ya." A quick wave, and he turns to walk into the hallway of teenage hormones and burnt-out teachers.

Christine let her cheerful demeanor drop, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the hallways. She's definitely not a damsel in distress; by the time she's done with this little chat, Michael Mell will hopefully be more the wiser.

If not? She might just go through with that threat. She's not going to sit here and watch Jeremy suffer from things that were out of his control, things that could've been solved if SOMEONE had listened to him.

There's going to be two sides to every story; she knows that.

She just hopes Michael is able to tell his part properly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Michael being conflicted and contradicting himself as he tries to figure out who he is now and who Jeremy is, featuring the anxious author who wonders if this is in character or not!

If you asked Michael how he felt about this entire incident, he'd struggle to even find a word before simply shrugging. There's nothing he can really say, unless you want a rant filled with words you don't understand. Too much happened for him to explain, without getting a board and making a presentation on it.

Speaking of presentations: He's sitting in class, uncomfortable because he doesn't have his headphones on, and still thinking about the stupid fight with Jeremy. He fucked up. What kind of idiot runs away from his problems? Him, apparently.

He can't erase Jeremy's crying face from his memory. He's seen him cry only 5 times in the entire time they've known each other; Jeremy HAD to cry other times. Did he hide that from him too, as an attempt to not annoy him? What else did Jeremy not do in front of him as to not cause an inconvenience? Did he really cause Him to bottle up his emotions until he just couldn't take it anymore? Apparently so. He's the definition of a toxic friend.

He sighed, dropping his head on his desk. There's too much going on inside his head to even focus on this class, despite knowing he desperately needs to bring his grade up. His grade is steadily dropping, and paired with the pressure from home to have perfect grades and the entire fight with Jeremy, he hasn't been sleeping well.

It's just impossible to focus on anything right now because he failed as a friend. It's basically been optic nerve blocking all over; but it's been initiated by both of them this time. Wonderful, don't you think? They were best friends, and now they're pretty much as close as strangers could be. He's been avoiding Jeremy, and from the looks of it, Jeremy was doing the same. He hasn't seen him at his locker at all. Maybe he should request to be moved.

Finally, the bell rings, and he grabs his backpack off the floor. He knows Jeremy got a new one, he's seen one glimpse of it before. He hasn't done the same. It's a pitiful attempt to cling to a time where he and Jeremy were okay, and that time sadly doesn't exist anymore.He needs to change it. He doesn't want anything to do with Rich Goranski. It's his fault Jeremy even heard of the squip.

What is he saying? They weren't okay then. He was being a total idiot, an asshole, and didn't even realize how much Jeremy was suffering. Did he listen then? No. Would he now? He can't answer that question. He just wishes Jeremy had actually told him he needed to stop trying to enforce positivity. He was just trying to be a good friend. And what does Jeremy know? He just stormed in the bathroom, called him a loser, and left. He needs to stop thinking about this, or he'll get riled up before chemistry.

The school hallways are crowded, body odor and the sickeningly sweet perfume of half the female enrollment stinging his senses as he tried to get to his locker. Get his books, avoid Jeremy if he's there, go to class, and go home. He's dreading going home, but it's better than being here and risking running into Jeremy. His moms aren't thrilled with his grades, and a stern talking to that will most likely end in them yelling at him is in order. Great.

  
  


"Heyyy! Michael, right?"

Finally reaching his locker, he turned to see none other than the person Jeremy was willing to do all he did for. He doesn't need this right now.

"Yeah. Why are you looking for me? Jeremy tell you I fucked him over? Because I know. I don't need to hear another lecture. If that's what this is about, you can just forget it." He turned back to his locker, pulling his headphones out and resting them against his neck.

"Look. I just want to talk to you about it. I'm not going to lecture you, or whatever." Christine walked in front of Jeremy's locker, leaning against it. "He said you're mad at him and he won't talk to you. I guess I'm playing mediator here."

Michael rolled his eyes, pulling out his chemistry book. "He's right. I'm pissed at him and at myself. But this isn't involving you. I don't care if you two are dating now, or whatever, but it really says a lot about him if he won't talk to me." He knows he's being hypocritical. He's the one who ran away when Jeremy finally confronted him over it. He just doesn't want to accept responsibility, even though he knows what he's saying is wrong.

"Shut up. Just shut up before I do something I regret." Christine threatened, lowering her voice. "We're not dating. He can't even handle friendships right now, there's NO WAY he could do a relationship. I want to be Jeremy's friend and be there for him, apparently unlike you. God, I see why he's so distant now. You really don't like facing problems, do you?" Michael opened his mouth to protest, but Christine cut him off with one glare.

"I'm not going to break his trust and tell you what he said, but you need to pull your head out of your ass and actually step up. You need to talk it out. I could care less if you two don't talk again after it; honestly, that's probably the best option for you two. But he's hearing his squip again. And unless you want him to get physiologically abused to the point that he kills himself, you'll help him out and give me some Mountain Dew red; assuming you still have some." She finished her rant, stepping back and angrily pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Michael tried to stay calm, tried to keep his emotions in check, before giving up.

"Whatever. I'll give you the fucking soda. Tell Jeremy to come to my house tomorrow, assuming he isn't busy with you, Rich, or anything else. I know he didn't say shit about what he did to ME, though, so I'm not surprised you're acting like this." He struggled to get the words out, slamming his locker shut. They're both late for class, but in some twist of fate, the hall monitors are nowhere in sight. The universe arranged this.

Christine cocked an eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest. Michael debated over whether or not to say it. He can tell her, and immediately book it to class- actually, no. He has to drive home and get the stupid soda. So he doesn't really know why he's holding his chemistry book, anyway.

"Ask him what happened in the bathroom at the Halloween party. Because leaving your intoxicated friend in the bathroom after insulting him just because he was trying to warn you about the squip is something Jeremy would NEVER do." Wow. He's crying. Way to fucking go. He'll never be able to face Christine again.

"Meet me in the parking lot later. I'll give you the dumb drink." He started to walk towards the door, holding the stupid book in his hand that he couldn't be bothered to put back.

All this could've been different. Fuck the universe. Fuck Jeremy.

Most of all, fuck himself. There's no words for how much he hates himself right now. Christine's words stung, but she's right. He knows that.

He just wants someone else to realize he's hurt too. Hard to get that, though, when he doesn't have any other friends. Sure, he didn't burn a house down. He didn't squip the school play's cast. He was a bad friend, he knows that, but to have the one person who was the brother he never had insult him and trash their friendship, despite Michael being the ultimate cause for it, hurts.And there's nothing he can do to fix it. This soda can help Jeremy, where he can't.

Pushing the door open, he stepped outside and sighed.

Tomorrow's going to be a hard day for both of them. Ending things is going to hurt. But if it makes him happier, and if Jeremy wants to go do...whatever, with others, then fine. It's fucking fine.

The end of a friendship spanning over a decade hurts. Of course it does, but this is for the best. He's still angry, and he knows things are going to be said tomorrow that neither can take back, but; He needs to move on. Jeremy isn't the same person anymore. He isn't either. It's for the best. They're going to be happier.

The tears silently dripping down his cheeks prove him otherwise.


End file.
